


Deja Vu

by PepperPrints



Series: Powerless [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post RE5 AU. Wesker offers a bargain, and the only price is Chris's pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deja Vu

**Author's Note:**

> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: our distance and that person.

 

A long time ago, Chris smoked just because it was a habit. He had shaken the addiction, mostly, to the extent that he didn't constantly need to have a cigarette, but there was something almost worse in exchange: he was a stress smoker.

 

He was on his second cigarette now, sitting outside and watching the smoke drift in the dim light. It was late, and it had grown pretty dark, but he didn't feel like going inside. Chris's mind was elsewhere, running a mile a minute, but on the surface he looked calm. He took in long, slow drags from his cigarette, and he let them out leisurely. Doctors could say all they wanted to say, but smoking sincerely calmed him down.

 

“ _That's a bad habit.”_

 

_Chris glanced up when Wesker approached him, shrugging his shoulders as he averted his stare again. “There's worse ones out there,” he said dismissively._

 

_Wesker didn't even hesitate. “Like drinking?” he asked, and Chris actually winced._

 

“ _About that,” he began sheepishly. “I'm sorry, Captain.”_

 

“Captain.”

 

Chris lifted his head, finding Piers approaching his side. They hadn't spoken much since Chris had gotten drunk and made a stupid mistake. It wasn't necessarily awkward, or harmful to their situation, but it hung between them with obvious unease. “Piers,” he greeted, his name coming out with a puff of smoke. “Did something happen?”

 

“No, sir,” Piers responded, “just checking up on you.”

 

Chris smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. Piers was always doing that, and Chris couldn't blame him. Piers had seen his Captain in some sorry shape. Chris was supposed to be the one looking after his men, and here Piers was, always keeping a close eye. He gave a little jerk of his head, urging Piers to sit down next to him. “Worried about my lungs, now?” he asked, shuffling down on the bench a little to give Piers more space.

 

“Maybe,” Piers said, settling himself down, and he quickly continued. “Did you make a decision?”

 

Chris was quiet for a moment, tapping the ashes off of the end of his cigarette. He didn't need to ask for clarification. “Yeah,” he said, not missing how Piers grew tenser at even the small pause before he added: “I'm not letting Wesker go.”

 

Piers looked relieved, incredibly so, but it didn't last. “And if he's telling the truth?” he asked cautiously.

 

“We'll figure it out some other way,” Chris replied. “But he's not leaving his cell.”

 

It sounded simple enough, but Chris knew there would be complications. What else could he offer Albert Wesker? The man had nothing else to desire except his freedom. He wouldn't be satisfied with a better cell or being offered benefits.

 

Piers was nodding, and he looked a lot more relaxed now than he had before. Chris felt his shoulders sink. He hadn't realized just how much this had been bothering Piers, and he shouldn't have been surprised. Chris had told Piers everything about Wesker – well, almost everything – and he knew how serious this was; how much it meant to Chris.

 

“What do you think he'll do when you go back there and tell him that?” Piers asked, and Chris scoffed around his cigarette.

 

“He won't do anything,” he told him. “He can't; he doesn't have the strength.”

 

Piers grinned a bit, the expression faltering a little when Chris offered him his cigarette. Piers' gloved fingers brushed over Chris's as he reached out, the touch warm and lingering. “I don't smoke, Captain,” he sighed, but he took it anyway. Chris paused, watching as Piers dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it underneath his boot.

 

“Piers,” he protested, voice trailing off into a groan. It wasn't like he didn't have a whole pack of cigarettes, but he had barely started that one; it seemed like a waste. “First drinking, now this?”

 

Rubbing the toe of his boot against the ashes, Piers still had his head turned down. “ _Have_ you been drinking?” he asked, and it made Chris frown.

 

“No,” he said firmly, honestly. “I haven't.”

 

That made Piers glance up, and he was smirking again. “Good,” he said happily, and his gloved hand cupped the back of Chris's head. “Because I told you: I won't do this when you've been drinking.”

 

Chris felt his pulse quicken, his hands tightening against his sides. “And smoking's not so bad – but I couldn't do this with that thing in your mouth,” added Piers.

 

Leaning in close, Piers nudged their foreheads together. Chris parted his lips, letting out a deep exhale, and he shivered when he felt Piers' fingers curl into his hair.

 

“Kiss me, Captain,” he invited.

 

Deja vu stuck with incredible intensity. Chris stirred, pulling back unthinkingly, and Piers looked into his wide eyes with confusion. “What?” he asked, moving to grasp Chris's shoulder. “What is it?”

 

“...nothing,” said Chris quickly, “sorry.”

 

Piers looked ready to question him again, and Chris interrupted with a light, chaste kiss. The gesture was soft, apologetic, and Piers let it stay that way for awhile before he sought out something deeper. His tongue pressed against Chris's lips, coaxing, and Chris opened his mouth, letting Piers inside.

 

–

 

Chris wouldn't be like Wesker.

 

Piers was so much like himself. It was painful to think about sometimes, so he tried to put it from his mind, but it was the simple truth. Piers was the same age Chris had been when he was in STARS, and served under Captain Albert Wesker. Piers was fiercely protective of his Captain, and Chris had felt the same, before the truth came out.

 

None of that had been real. Wesker had been deceiving them from the very start, and Chris had fallen for it. It still made him feel stupid, when he realized just how much he had done for Wesker, and would have done for him, if the situation had called for it.

 

Chris wouldn't have hesitated if he had to die for Wesker – and Wesker intended him to do just that, but just in different terms. Chris would die for the sake of an experiment, no more important than a lab rat.

 

“ _I'm sorry, Captain.”_

 

_Wesker lifted his head a little, impossible to read behind his sunglasses. “For what?” he asked._

 

_Chris had gawked at him; he assumed that was obvious. “For getting drunk and being stupid,” he supplied. “It was a mistake.”_

 

_Wesker seemed to consider that for a moment. “Is that what you think.” The flatness of his voice made it sound not like a question at all. It felt like some kind of trick, and Chris paused, uncertain how to answer. As he stayed silent, Wesker bent his head again, making a thoughtful sound. “What a pity.”_

 

“What a pity,” Wesker sighed, toying idly with his cuffs. “You're going to let a lot of innocent people die.”

 

Chris narrowed his eyes. He had been putting off coming back here, and Wesker didn't take the rejection as angrily as Chris expected. He still acted composed, but his paling skin and the dark spots around his eyes that were slowly deepening told a different story: Wesker looked drained.

 

“You tried to destroy the world,” reminded Chris dully. “We need more evidence than your word before anyone even thinks about letting you go.”

 

“But you did think about it.” Wesker was smiling a little, and Chris scowled back. Shifting slightly, Wesker leaned forward on the table. Since there wasn't much space between them, it brought him incredibly close to Chris. “Need I also remind you that I wasn't destroying the world – I was saving it.”

 

“Yeah, right,” muttered Chris. In whatever twisted terms worked in Wesker's mind, he was sure that made sense, but in the real world, Wesker's 'plan' was utter insanity.

 

Wesker looked him up and down, those blue eyes scrutinizing every inch of him that he could see. “Why did you come all this way, Chris, if just to deny me?” he asked smoothly. “That seems vastly unnecessary, unless you intend to offer me something else.”

 

Chris crossed his arms, saying nothing, and Wesker's smile spread.

 

“ _What a pity.”_

 

_Chris had stared at him then, and he noticed that Wesker was starting to smile a bit. He suddenly realized that he had been wrong: Wesker wasn't chastising him for what he'd done, he had been encouraging him._

 

_Chris stamped out his cigarette, and he hurried to his feet. Wesker was just slightly taller, forcing him to reach up, and Chris hoped he didn't mind the taste of nicotine._

 

“ _Kiss me, Captain,” he invited, burying his fingers into blond hair._

 

“Do you want to kiss me?”

 

Chris's shoulders stiffened. “What?”

 

“You're staring at my mouth,” Wesker observed amusedly. Chris hadn't even realized; he had been lost in his own head. Why couldn't he stop thinking about that? He didn't even remember that moment before Piers stirred up the memory.

 

Piers.

 

This was getting nowhere. Chris stood up from his chair, intending to leave in a hurry, but Wesker's voice caused him to still.

 

“Kiss me,” he offered, “and I'll tell you where to start searching.”

 

Chris went very still. Slowly, he turned back around and narrowed his eyes into a glare. Wesker had certainly lowered his bargain. If Wesker was lying, he didn't lose anything – except his pride, and the ability to look Piers honestly in the face.

 

How many people were at risk, and how much time could he save?

 

“Well?”

 

Chris stepped around the table, coming close again, and buried his fingers in blond hair.


End file.
